Mr Prince, the pauper
by Scribler360
Summary: ONE-SHOT. It's nearing Christmas and Draco is feeling like Scrooge. How was he supposed to know that a little encounter with Hermione Granger would change his outtake on the world? Especially when it was so wrong....but yet so right in many ways.


**Long time since I posted on this site so I thought....hey**

**Why not write a one-shot?**

**xx**

* * *

Midnight interludes.

Draco Malfoy was a man of little patience. He liked things being done quickly- and when he meant quickly, he meant _quickly._Throughout his life, he had the sense of being in control. Even when he wasn't, like that inane period of his life where he'd actually thought his father was the bees knees. Well people grew up, and such lies did not hold such revelations anymore. He was a man in his own right, and although at the ripe age of 25, he was broke and did not have a whiff of a fortune to speak of, he still felt it was below himself to beg in front of the muggleborns surrounding him.

Yes, that was right. Although the world now saw him has a reformed creature of greed, he still had the racial stirrings within his heart. Although he had no problems integreating with their culture and vulgar attitudes to life, that did not mean he, christ almighty, _liked _them. In that regards, he had to be furtively clear, even if it was for his own bigoted purposes.

One cold December night, nearing the day of Yule, Christmas, Santa's birthday, _whatever_, were the times he hated most. People all around him singing "_Silent night,"_when there wasn't even any bloody silence to speak of! And another favourite, "On the twelfth day of Christmas, I fucking pissed myself before Draaaaaco kiiillllled me,"

Of course the last lines had been of his own addition, after failing to find a plot that secluded a group of eight from the rest of the brightly lit world in which he could he have his _own_ feast by gorging out their fucking throats. Yes, he was very _pissed _when that time of the month came. And it was in this very burlish mood that Draco Abraxius Malfoy, of 25 years reaccquainted with Hermione Jean Granger, aged 26 and very much his superior academically.

As Draco staggered down the back alley leading to Florish and Blotts, Draco came to the startling conclusion that he needed to get _laid-_ and fast. Much to his horror, while he's been lining up for his usual chilled pumpkin juice ( coffee- evil stuff) he had an almighty urge to vault over the counter and bang the lady behind it _hard. _That was when Draco knew he was in big trouble. If it had come down to the fact that he salivated over _Mrs Flourescan_, a woman well past her prime and very much on the coffin-pressing kind of things then he knew he was screwed. Thoroughly and truly.

However, Draco prided himself on the knowledge that he didn't sully himself over such petty things like _rape. _The effort to subdue a woman and very carelessly break her hymen could be used instead for the crook of his finger. And being an irresistible bastard that he was, she'd come running. Like _that_. With the click of the fingers. But there were many women out there who wanted to get to know him more _privately_; and as far as he was concerned, he didn't need the hassle. For all he knew, his next conquest could be a top reporter from The Daily Prophet to reveal if Draco Malfoy's **"**assets**"** were really as big as his bank balance once were. Or if he had secretly murdered sixteen hundred children and ate their livers at night.

Urgh. Draco shuddered. The far fetched stories people cooked up sometimes....

So after he happened to let his lower part overrule his upper parts, it just so happened, that coincidentally, he happened to glance in through the window of Flourish and Blotts and a particular style of hair caught his attention. _Well, If I wasn't damned...._Draco thought sullenly, _Miss Beautiful Beaver of the the century has decided to grace us lowly beings with her god awful appearance..._He stood out in the cold, watching Auror Granger bring a book closer to her nose, and peer at an indecent image with close scrutiny. Her curls, as omnipresent as they were, was just like it was back in the good ol' days. Except there was a lot more of it. And boy, she sure didn't mind teasing him with her body which he so _desperately _wanted to mutilate beyond recognition.

Such joys of money he now longer had. Boo hoo. _Let's throw a fucking pity party right here...._Draco thought angrily.

The little bell over the door rang merrily as he stepped in. To his annoyance, Miss Oh-so-high and mighty didn't bother glancing up in his direction. Instead she patted her the pockets of her standard auror's robes one-handily and drew out a slip of paper alongside a feathery quill. Obviously planning to take notes ahoy. Well screw her plans and screw him too. Malfoy was determined, not because he wanted to plunge into her core right in the middle of this aisle, though that did sound sadistically tempting. No he wanted to annoy the hell out of her, and make him feel confident in the process that he was once, truly the most feared boy of Hogwarts at one time. Albeit it mainly had to do with the two dicks of a plum, that stood behind him, that did the trick.

"Hello muddy," he greeted, trying to put his "infamous" drawl in place, but all that manged was for him to sound slightly guilty. Damn his voice-box.

"Honestly," Hermione Granger said, not even bothering to look up from _The Standard Spells of An Auror, Grade Six, _she was engrossed in. Although before this day, Malfoy had never actually spoken to her outside of Hogwarts, Hermione had become accustomed to the pale shade of blond cropping up in the dark refines of The Leaky Cauldron. He was a regular customer and by the end of the day, when Hermione passed through the Pub to the Fireplaces, she had never failed to notice him slumped over a firewhisky. The days of a Malfoy, were long over. And she was proud to be one of the people to witness the very day the Malfoy's lost their livelihood.

The pleasures of being an auror....well what could she say? They were simply untradable.

Draco was getting more annoyed by the minute. By now, he was meant to be feeling good- not annoyed, but hells bells, here was the bookworm making his life even_ more _miserable. Life truly was the shite of his father. A little bit peeved, Draco growled, " So what's that book you're soiling under your fingertips?" Hermione shot him an exasperated look, before returning to her pages. Malfoy didn't notice the way her hand cooly rested on her hip, quite close to the wand concealed within. Instead of satisying his request, she turned her back on him and ran a finger down the spines of a few books she would need in the future.

This succeeded in infuriating Draco even more. He didn't want to resort to physical contact but the situation god-damned called out for it! So it was with trepidation and morbid clarity that he took hold of Hermione Granger's arm and proceeded to spin her around to face him yet once again. Instantaneously, Draco had to suffer the humiliation of being pinned up against a wizened old bookcase by a _woman _of all people. Yeah, that's right- he was a sexist too- he couldn't help it- it was how he had been raised in a world where women were the submissive delicate creatures that they were and the men were the dominant strong creatures who brought forth the meat and all that nonsense.

And know his theory was being kicked in the butt. If Draco hadn't witnessed firsthand the amount of times she had broken into sobs- too rare and far in-between for his liking- he'd never have believed the woman before him was capable of showing any type of weakness. Or insecurity. Draco strained against the wand placed directly over his jugular, and unpleasant memories emerged over the echo of the scene playing right before his eyes. Except then he had been twelve years younger and a hell of a coward.

"I would kindly suggest for you to place that wand elsewhere," he said acidly. Normally he wouldn't have been so formal in such occasions but he _knew _this would unnerve her Royal Majesty. The book that Hermione had been pouring over just minutes earlier lay forgotten on the ground. Hermione was surprised- whatever she'd been expecting- it hadn't been this. It more ran along the lines of Mr Malfoy breaking out into big gulping sobs before ever so delicately taking her hand and showering it with kisses. Well, one could live in hope.

"Why?" she hissed, digging the wand just that little bit harder. Draco grimaced, making a mental note to scrub his throat raw when he got back to the cardboard box he called home.

"Because I highly doubt the appropriateness off an esteemed auror attacking an innocent civilian such as myself," Draco cleverly replied, knowing that if anything did make her pause and think, then it was the work she loved. Hermione looked as if someone had just broke the news to her that Santa Claus was not real. Her eyebrows arched disbelievingly into her fringe. "You? An innocent civilian? I don't think so," she snorted but nevertheless stepping backwards and lowering her wand. Malfoy massaged his neck, glaring at her with intense dislike.

"You're seeming to forget that I no longer have the fortune of possessing a wand, Miss Granger," he mumbled, making no attempt to reach down and help pick up Hermione's book.

"And who's fault is that, huh? Sometimes Malfoy, I pity you....You seem to think that you're better than everybody else in the world when really you're not even worth the dirt on my shoes. I am saddened to think, Malfoy, that your idiocy has prevailed you so deeply that you assume I will merely stand here and exchange insults with you. I have a life to get back to and if you'll kindly excuse me, I am now departing." Hermione bent down to retrieve her book, dismissing Draco effectively with so many words. And to rub salt into the wound, Muddy started humming "Jingle Bells," under her breath.

Malfoy fet furious. It was a feeling well accustomed to him but this time, instead of being angry with himself, he was angry with _her._White hot rage flowing through his veins that almost burnt his eyes out of his skull. The urge to cheat and deceive threatened to overwhelm him, and with as much bitter satisfaction as he could summon, Malfoy dared to slam his knee in Hermione Granger's face. Hard bone met with unbroken cartilage, causing Hermione's nose to spout blood like an Icelandic spring. Or at least if her reaction had anything to do with it.

Hermione gazed up from her position on the floor, gazing up at Draco with tear-filled eyes, both hands clutched over her nose in order to thwart the blood. Needless to say, it didn't work. "You....You.....You hit me...." she whispered almost as if she was shocked by the assault of a lowly commoner. Malfoy had never had the experience of slamming a knee into a woman's face. The men he usually did it to were never so theatrical. One slam and bam! Out cold on the floor. Muddy here should be grateful he deliberately didn't break her nose.

He crouched low, his face devoid of it's usual arrogance or drunkenness. His upper lip curled into a sneer that seemed like a distant familiarity invading him. "That makes us about even, don't you think?"

Hermione didn't need to look puzzled without realizing he was referring to _that _incident twelve years ago. Malfoy truly did have an outstanding memory. Shame it seemed to desert him when it came to classwork or dodging the law. On hearing Miss Granger's startled yelp, Mr Flourish proceeded to climb down the ladder he had been dusting upon, and wandered through the rows of books in search for it's producer. His wintry snow eyebrows rose with surprise and disbelief as he found a young couple of twenty-five years crouching on the floor.

"What is going on here?" he wheezed, peering over his cracked spectacles. His lack of vision blighting him in his quest to solve a mystery of utmost importance.

"Why my wife has only managed to go and spill some jelly over herself! Terribly stupid of her, don't you think?"

Poor Mr Flourish's ailing memory was not as it once was. In the dim light, it really did seem like a spell had gone wrong, and this man's striking wife had been in the brunt of it.

"Yes, yes," he murmured absent-mindedly, as the notion of popping on the kettle for a well earned cup of Earl Grey entered his mind. "You two have fun now..."

"You heard the cranky old bastard, Granger- have some fun with me, why don't you?" Draco grinned, an unhealthy look of fervor entering his light eyes. His hand rested briefly on her back and Hermione had no energy to knock it away.

"Must you always end your monologue's with a question?" she growled, looking dejectedly put off that Malfoy had described her as his _wife. _From the many things she had been described as, this was definitely a new one.

"Why yes, I do- it adds to the mysteriousness of the person speaking, don't you think?" Malfoy replied wittily, his thumb now subconsciously rubbing in small circles at the base of her spine. To Hermione, this was a step gone too far; she may have well been a respectable auror who did not prey upon weaker subjects but that did _not _mean she let any _skedaddle _paw her however festive the season may seem.

"No!" she snapped, jerking forwards in an abrupt manner to convey her displeasure about the situation. Much to her chagrin, his hand followed now unabashadly massaging the hollow of her back.

Although it was Malfoy's hand that was committing the crime, it seemed the brain had ditached itself altogether if the way he was dopily grinning at her had anything to do with it. Hermione sent a venomous glare, ignoring the light headedness suddenly wrapping it's tender fingers around her skull. Man, what was Malfoy playing at? "How can you stand touching a Mudblood, Malfoy?" Hermione asked, half curious, half oblivious as his hand continued brazenly caressing her determinedly. The moment she uttered those words, Malfoy's hand paused for a second and a small dose of regret shot up her veins.

"I just want to have sex with you," Draco said unsmilingly staring at her wide eyes with earnest. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"What?! Malfoy, you ARE a pureblooded prat, if this is your idea of some cheap Friday night humour then I am going to arrest you in the order of the suspicion of-"

"Whoa there," Malfoy grabbed hold tight on the back of her robes. "Just look at me for a minute, Granger. I'm currently caressing the socks of you, having just asked for your consent in getting laid, I also happen to be having a bulging hard -"

"HEY!" Hermione protested, still not quite believing how an innocent night out at the bookstore had somehow revolved itself to her lying on the floor after the cause of said position propositioned fucking her eyeballs out.

"Now look here you racist imbe-"

"Me? Racist?" Draco gave a hollow laugh which sounded as if he found the statement ridiculous. "What about you?"

"ME? One of my best friends is a PUREBLOOD! Haven't you noticed that yet?!" Hermione yelped, not liking the way he had easily turned the tables on her.

"Certainly," Malfoy scoffed, " But you have failed to notice that every insult you have aimed at me is about my heritage or pre-made assumptions about my upbringing."

"WHAT?" This time Hermione was very angered by the accusations flying hithero thithero. She had never encountered a person before who had accused her of discrimination. In fact- if anybody HAD wanted to take a "pop" at her it was due to her unwavering compassion.

"YOU STARTED ALL THIS-"

"Sssh..." Malfoy shushed her, " You're destroying the piece and quiet which frankly can be destroyed by loud orgasmic screams-"

"You pillock," This time Hermione had cottoned onto whispering her statements. Rage filled her so deeply that her voice shook as she continued berating the sore nail (Malfoy) that picked away at her sides. " You're the one who called me mudblood a countless amount of brain-numbing times! So sure, I avoided you at first, took different, longer routes to class in case you "apprehended" me but over the years I have come to realise you're nothing but a pretty face hiding under a cowardly personality. No wonder you were sorted into Slytherin-"

Malfoy snarled at her. " But did you have to retaliate- tell me that, dear Hermione- did it satisfy you bringing yourself down to my level?! Because call it what you may, but just because and I quote "you're a pureblooded prat" isn't universally acknowledged as a racist term doesn't make it anymore less so!"

By the end of their heated argument, both Draco and Hermione were on the floor, faces inches apart and glaring at each other with scorching gazes. And in that time, Malfoy glanced at Hermione Granger's lips for the first time in his entire life. When he had joking around the whole "loud orgasmic screams" it had been worthwhile seeing the conflicting emotions flitting across her face.

But now....

Something told him deep inside that the joke had gone too far. He really now WAS actually considering ripping muddy's clothes off right here in the aisle. The curse of tetesterone cropping up at inappropriate times....Really why hadn't he been born gay or something? It would be inevitably better than lusting after Miss High and Mighty herself. Crap- he really was screwed, wasn't he?

His jittery hand reached out and grabbed the collar of her robes and it was then Draco knew that what was going to happen next couldn't be avoided or halted altogether.

Draco Malfoy was going to get laid today, and if it meant by the woman before him then all the more better for the lower half of his body.

His lips flowed on hers, and the moment was sweet before Draco's tongue grew more probing, more insistent. Hermione, still very shocked but still aware of the unexpected turn of events grew more tense, clutching onto his shirt tightly.

Despite her disgusted brain, her body was much aware that a warm-blooded male was pressed against her chest and this fact didn't escape unnoticed. It was with surrender and a bitter sigh that she returned his kisses, letting her tongue explore every crevice and contour of her partner's mouth. Draco's hitched breath fanned across Hermione's collarbone and she couldn't help but moan as he kissed twenty three kisses-precisely- up her neck. Nudging her curved neck slightly with his nose as he tried to get closer to her skin than possible.

With the numerous amount of books on weary shelves as their only audience they continued exploring every crevice and nook of each other, making no noise except for the occasional murmur or groan. Their clothes had been long discarded off, thrown haphazardly on the ground and covering Hermione's forgotten book with an air of finality.

Liquid fire flowed through their arteries filling their hearts with desire and appreciation. Slickly moving as one, as the moon shone a clear beam on Draco's back as he bathed himself in Hermione's pulsing heat.

He stared into her eyes as he cast himself off the last remains of his abstinence in the past eight months. He didn't care that he would be horrified in the morning, or he would curl up on cold frosty nights and imagine of this crazy, _crazy _passion in-fueled encounter for hours to come. He lived in that moment, clenching his fists as sensations long forgotten to him ran through body, exhilarating but exhausting him to his bones.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Malfoy awoke the next morning the first thing he was aware of was a string of curses and stirring sounds of a woman beside him.

The pale face of Hermione Granger's face looked back at him as she wrenched on her robe, her mouth set in a grim line. As if she was aware he was awake, she stared sadly at his face. This surprised Draco, because if there was any emotions that unsettled Draco in his bed- well floor, in this case- then it was sadness.

It radiated out of her as she wearily pushed back her thick strands of hair, and with saddened voice of a widow whispered-

"Never repeat what happened here EVER-understand? Don't approach me, Don't touch me- hell, don't even _look _at me which is what you're precisely doing at this moment-"

Her shoes noiselessly travelled to the far end of the aisle and with a sickness pulsing deep in his stomach, he heard her whisper...

"I hope you have a lovely Christmas, Malfoy. Goodbye."

* * *

**Author's Note : I know it's not the happiest of notes to end on, but I couldn't resist. =D**

**I also know the title would be more fitted to a one-shot about Snape, but since I'm NEVER going to do that- why let this title go to waste?**

**Just to let you know I'm still alive and stuff.**

**XD**

**----------------------------------------**


End file.
